


Music And Lyrics By Taylor Swift.

by amorremanet



Series: 22 Weeks Is A Long Time [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Body Image, Community: chubwinchesters, Confessions, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, Gen, M/M, Mishalecki friendship, Non-Linear Narrative, Unrequited Love, Weight Gain, chubby!kink, fat appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jared doesn't really know how to talk to Misha, Misha doesn't really know how Jared can exist when he's so <i>nice</i>, but they manage to meet somewhere in the middle. Also, Jared's attention span… is like a unicorn, in that it's mostly a mythological creature. (Interlude; set between chapters thirteen and fourteen of, "That's Some Atrocious Breach of Privacy" and immediately after, "In Order To Possess Mere Consolations.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music And Lyrics By Taylor Swift.

For the longest time, Jared had no idea what to do about Misha.  
  
Truth told, he still doesn't know what to do about Misha. And, okay, sure, Jared doesn't know what to do about a lot of things—like professors he can't argue with or they'll get pissed off and hate him (Jensen's advice for them is to just shut his mouth, sit back, and lick his wounds with the knowledge that those people are idiots and Jared's not, but that's easier said than done), or like when people have problems that Jared can't fix, with hugs or muffins or buying them coffee or listening to them whine or anything else (Jensen's advice for  _them_  is to stop worrying so much)—but Jared  _especially_  doesn't know what to do about Misha.  
  
Not really, anyway—and it's not that he dislikes Misha. Sometimes, Jared wishes that he did because that'd be easier to deal with. It'd be simpler to understand, anyway. Since if Jared disliked him, he'd be able to know how he feels about Misha, and know what to do about Misha, and maybe even have some kind of beat on how Misha feels about him or how to act around Misha so as to avoid any potential awkwardness between the two of them and Jensen.  
  
Thing is, Misha is Jensen's best friend, and the two of them take this more seriously than any other set of best friends Jared's ever known. Which means that Jared's allowed to have his own feelings about the guy, and Misha's allowed to have his own feelings about Jared, and they're allowed to disagree or argue or otherwise not get on well, as long as it's on their own time, not on any time they share with Jensen. Because, at the end of the day, Jared has to at least make an effort for his boyfriend's sake and Misha has to make an effort for his best friend's sake. Even before Jared started going out with Jensen, he realized that Misha came as part of the package, that he and Jensen might not be entirely inseparable, but that you don't get one without the other.  
  
So it's not like he objects to that. He knew what he was getting into when Jensen asked him out and he accepted. Jared just… doesn't know what to do about Misha. Or if they're even friends. If he's allowed to call Misha his friend, the way he wants to, because Jared  _wants_  to be Misha's friend, but he doesn't know if Misha reciprocates or if Misha's just tolerating him or what. Jared has no idea if he's allowed to try and help Misha out, the way he wants to, or if they're just supposed to stay limited to talking about the guys they think are hot.  
  
It's all really weird, to say the least. The air of seriousness that follows Misha everywhere. The invisible wall between him and everyone else that Jared hopes he's just imagining. The way he can be all smiles and laughing and going on about some ridiculous bullshit that his heart isn't really set on, and he'll still get this look in his eyes like he's at a funeral for someone he really loved. And then, it's all impossible. Trying to talk to Misha and knowing that you might not stand where you think you do. Trying to get to know him and getting met, more often than not, with a bunch of smoke and mirrors, but not having the grounds to  _say_  they're smoke and mirrors or tell him that it's okay to just be himself and be honest with people—not to mention how Misha then turns around to say he's being honest, in some sort of,  _all the stories I tell are true, especially the lies_  way…  
  
Nobody else Jared's ever known lives in the subtext as much as Misha does. Nobody else wears it like armor the same way that he does—and Jensen claims Danneel does, which… Jared wouldn't know, since he sees Misha more often than Jensen's favorite cousin, especially off at Oxford and only talking to some of his people from back home over Skype—and the worst part of it is that Jared can never really tell if he should worry or not. If that nervous tickle at the back of his neck or the way his stomach gets itself tied up in knots over whether or not Misha's okay.  
  
If he's even in the right, worrying about Misha—because he does like the guy, and he doesn't want Misha to be not-okay because Jared doesn't like anybody being not-okay, but there's still some level on which he's mostly worried for his boyfriend. Because if Misha's not-okay, then Jensen could be not-okay soon enough, and as Jensen's aforementioned boyfriend, Jared's pretty not-okay with the thought of Jensen being not-okay, like, he's opposed to it on principle and it's his duty and honor and other chivalrous knightly stuff like that to make sure that it doesn't happen—and maybe that's kind of selfish? Like, not exactly the best reason to get all precious over Misha's welfare, y'know?  
  
Jared sighs and shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, heaving several deep breaths to recover from the full force of his word-vomit. He stares down at his laptop's screen, blinks back at the Thoroughly Unimpressed face that Jensen's giving him—the bemused wrinkle of his nose and the arch of his eyebrow—it really makes Jared want to do stuff. He has to ponder what stuff, but he thinks he'd like to ask what the Hell Jensen's smoking, because all these things are obvious to Jared, and Jared's not exactly known for picking up on subtlety. And Jensen's off-kilter smirk? The way it can't decide if it's judgmental or affectionate?  
  
Well, that really,  _really_  makes Jared want to do stuff. Stuff with Jensen, like. It makes Jared wish he could be there to just grab Jensen and jerk him in close and kiss him full on the pretty mouth until neither of them can breathe. Which doesn't get any better when Jensen tells him: "Jay… You are so lucky that Misha's in the shower and can't hear you pulling any of that shit out on him."  
  
"What shit?" Jared sighs, knowing that he's whining and playing it up when Jensen huffs back,  _that overanalyzing shit_ . "I'm not overanalyzing  _anything_ , Jenny—Hell, with Misha? I'm probably being, like… too not-analyzing. Or too basic. Or something like that… whatever-ishly."  
  
Jensen chuckles and it makes Jared's heart melt, makes his stomach go all squirmy like maggots or elm bark beetles, except that Jared doesn't hate this feeling like he hates bugs—Jesus God, his boy is pretty, all ducking his chin and blushing like that, with that megawatt-smile and the way it strains his lips, the little dimples that it digs into his full cheeks—Jensen's definitely looking chubbier around the face, which doesn't help Jared's stomach settle down any. That Cherubic look of Jensen's, the baby-sized helping of double-chin ( _Okay, maybe it's more a kids' meal by now, but it could still be bigger, I can't wait to see it bigger…_ )…  
  
They just make Jared itch to kiss Jensen more, feel sick with how much he wants to just be all over Jensen's dick already—kiss him, get him good and worked up, then give him the best blow-job he's ever had in his life. And it's even less help for Jared's sexual frustration, that Jensen won't tell Jared anything about his weight, whether or not he's gained any since Jared's been gone, if his dips into The Stash for their Skype sessions are the only times he binges.  
  
Because Jensen's gorgeous, Jensen's  _always_  gorgeous, and he hated the tenterhooks he got hung up on over being skinny, the constant need to care about how many calories are in that, or how many carbs are in this, or whether or not he's worked out enough today, or if missing one day at the gym will fuck him over in the weight department—and for all they've got a mutual kink, for all they've shared this experience together and loved it, for all Jensen wanted to let himself go and just be happy, for all he would've gotten fat again on his own… Jared's heart does flip-flops and gets all jittery over the thought of Jensen, on some level, doing it  _for him_ .  
  
He's probably a selfish dick or something, even if it's all pretenses and part of their play with each other and Jensen's not  _really_  gaining weight for Jared (that Jared knows anyway, or that he'd for real approve of if he did know)—but Jared really,  _really_  likes the thought that Jensen is. The game of it all. The  _idea_  that Jensen's doing all of this because Jared wants it, to make Jared happy, because Jared's special. And it's hilarious, just thinking that Jared needs anything more than Jensen to make him smile, but that unreal aspect of the whole thing just makes it easier for Jared to zone out and enjoy things—just enjoy Jensen's smile, and his face, and his perfection, and his everything—and oh, hey, Jensen's snapping his fingers in the webcam.  
  
Why is Jensen snapping his fingers in the webcam.  
  
Shaking his head, shaking himself around and back into reality, Jared blinks at Jensen's fingers, then at Jensen and his grinning face, and Jared's so confused that he can't fully appreciate Jensen's throaty, gorgeous laugh. "Where the Hell did you go that time, Princess?" Jensen says, and Jared can't help smiling at that, because fuck it, he  _likes_  being Jensen's Princess.  
  
With a shrug, he says, "Oh, nowhere. I was just thinking about fucking you over a desk and making you call me, 'Professor.'" (Maybe it's not exactly true, but now that Jared's gone and thrown that idea out there—and, more importantly, now that Jensen's smirked back at him like,  _oh, really, Gorgeous?_ , instead of just dismissing the idea—Jared thinks there might be some merit to the notion.)  
  
"Yeah, well… I was just trying to tell you," Jensen says, chuckling a bit even though his tone is serious. "For your own good. Because I love you and I'm personally invested in your dick staying in place and mostly intact: seriously, Jay, don't tell Misha anything about what you're thinking, okay? He's just. He's really sensitive about personal space—"  
  
"How is it getting into his personal space to be worried about him?"  
  
"Part of his definition of  _personal space_  is that he doesn't like feeling like people are worried about him."  
  
For all Jared wants to interject right now and say how lonely he thinks that sounds, how it doesn't really do anything to make him less worried about Misha because Misha's a cool guy and Jared doesn't think anybody deserves to feel like that, much less cool people who also happen to be Jared's boyfriend's best friend—for all his default instinct to run his mouth starts bubbling up on him, Jared doesn't think saying what's on his mind would help. On the one hand, it occurs to him that it's kind of presumptuous and douchey of him to think like that, because Misha's kind of his friend too—at least, Jared thinks of him as a friend, even if he's not sure that sentiment is reciprocated—but they're not super-close and Jared has no idea what goes on in Misha's head.  
  
On the other hand, though, Jensen's whole face changes. In a flash, he could be a different person, or at least, he's in a grimmer mood than Jensen usually gets into—there's still a glimmer of love in his eyes, the way Jared always sees when Jensen looks at him, but the rest of it's all pale and resigned and pursed lips and that tightness Jared hates seeing in Jensen's jaw because he knows he can't do anything about it. Not with any comforting thing he's tried before, anyway. Exhausted—Jensen looks  _exhausted_ . Like he knows what Jared's thinking and he wants to say,  _Yeah, believe me—I know how fucked this is. I know it's lonely and depressing and no way for a person to live in the world, and I know it's not something I should let my best friend deal with on his own. But this is how we have to do things, okay? Because that's how Misha needs people to be there for him._  
  
Jensen decides to confirm this suspicion for Jared, next: "It's just… I can't tell you all about it, okay? I really wish I could, so you could, like, understand it all more, but… I can't do that, Jared. It's his story, not mine, and it's not my place to go clueing people in, it's his—but Misha's been in pretty shitty places before. Like, 'pretty much an extended near-death experience' places, and there are a lot of emotions tied up in that, and it's still kind of a touchy subject and a mess-type thing, for him, but…"  
  
For a moment, Jensen trails off and looks darker still—he sighs like Jared's always imagined that Greek mythology dude with the world literally on his shoulders would sigh—Atticus the Titan, or Atlas Rand, or whoever he was. He goes past looking exhausted, right into looking like he's going to pass out, or like he's been dead and come back to life again. "Vicki, Shepp, and I had to be really worried about him right then," he says, quietly, "and Misha hated it because he doesn't like thinking that people worry about him. It makes him feel like shit, which isn't really what we want, in general, to kind of keep him from going back to those places—so, yeah, your heart's in the right place. Just… express it by not doing your usual thing?"  
  
"What's my usual thing?" Jared's earnestly confused by this, despite the moment of incredulity he gets in response and the flash of Jensen arching his eyebrow—sighing from the pit of his stomach, Jared sighs and lets his shoulders slouch, taking his entire body with them, making him remember that, no, really, Jared probably has no right to complain about anything, that even if his concern and desire to _just understand what's going and why things suck for people on so he can help_  are legitimate and not just him being nosy or something, because Misha's not the only guy in this triangle who has secrets.  
  
Misha's got a whole library full of them, sure. Jensen's got some of his own but mostly he just keeps Misha's and Danneel's. And as for Jared? Well, Jared has yet to stop pretending he's an open book, even though his secret isn't of the  _potentially self-destructive, serious business_  sort. Semantics, that's what that is. The nature of the secret doesn't matter as much as the fact that there's a secret in the first place.  _Jared_  probably doesn't have any right to get whining about anything because at least Misha's kind of open about the fact that he has secrets—he almost never admits to them outright, sure, but he never denies the extent to which he exists in subtext—while Jared's gotten addicted to finding excuses not to take his shirt off for Jensen, or finding angles at which he can tilt his laptop's screen or uncomfortable positions he can sit in, or whatever else he can do.  
  
It's the stupidest thing, that Jared won't just admit—and to  _Jensen_ , of all people—that he's gained a few pounds since coming overseas… But Jared's gain is barely showing, from his eyes. His clothes are only finally starting to get snug, and he hasn't even gained an amount that he can brag about, and besides, the whole point of planning a surprise is that he  _doesn't_  tell Jensen about it. That'd sort of defeat the purpose of everything.  
  
Still, though, secrecy sucks. Coming up with excuses sucks. Jared's considering growing out his hair. Not like he really needs to, even with the weight he's putting on. His hair already flops around his chin, but Rose from down the hall says that long hair helps to slim the face, which might help Jared look less changed and more normal. She's not fat, not even pretty thin but chubby-cheeked, so Jared doubts that she's learned this "fact" from personal experience. He doesn't think she's a hairdresser, or a health and beauty writer for a magazine, or a stylist, or a photographer, or some other profession where she'd have to know this kind of thing—but Rose is the neighbor who fixed Jared's student flat up with an Internet connection that, because it wasn't coming courtesy of Oxford and subjected to their rules, didn't have a monthly data limit that, between his Skyping and Mike's  _Warcraft_  habit and how often Jimmy's on Tumblr, could get burned through in the first few days of any given month.  
  
And besides that, Rose makes really tasty meat pies. So Jared trusts her opinion on this.  
  
"You  _know_  what your usual thing is, Princess," Jensen says while Jared's mind gets wandering, forcing an affectionate chuckle and smiling fondly at Jared as though this really takes the edge off of having to criticize him. "Just… You're allowed to care about Misha, okay? You're allowed to worry about Misha and be concerned and whatever else you're gonna do—just… Turn down the volume. Be sedate about it. Don't do anything to clue him into how you're worried, okay?"  
  
(Despite Jared kind of wanting to be petulant about this, the smile really does help, as does the fact that Jensen probably couldn't actively criticize an emotionally sensitive kitten and expect to make it cry. That he's saying this out of a deep place of concern, for Misha  _and_  for Jared, and the way Jensen fusses with his hands, massages at and cracks his knuckles, makes Jared think,  _I love those hands_ , which makes him remember that they might not be right next to each other, but he has Jensen and Jensen has him, and they're in love. Which helps more, not so much because it soothes Jared's peevishness, the hint of jealousy he knows he's got lurking in the back of his mind, but because it's a distraction.)  
  
He tries to stay focused on Jensen and the conversation they're having, because it's serious business and Jared doesn't want to act like it's not—it's just… certain extenuating circumstances make it kind of hard to keep his attention on Jensen explaining what  _Jared's usual thing_  is and wondering if maybe someone shouldn't be more loudly concerned about Misha, if he's the sort of in-trouble where he really thinks that talking to his friends about his problems or letting people who love him get concerned makes him a bad person. This earns Jared a crash course in distinctions, in how Misha's not in-trouble, not at the moment, his behavior might not be normal, sure, but it's not actually unhealthy in a way that derails his entire life—and Jensen would know because he's seen Misha in periods where he's gotten like that, and for now, he's safe.  
  
Which doesn't really make Jared feel any better about how his extenuating circumstances are just the rolls he's picking up on his stomach, and how his current position reminds him that they're there. Normally, he likes them well enough. Even right now, he's pretty fond of his little bit of pudge—but Jared's ready to get on his knees and shout  _HALLELUJAH!_  in thanks when Chad barges into his room and drags him out to dinner. His pudge is distracting, and the Misha discussion is twenty times more serious, and Jared likes not having to feel like an enormous douche because he's only thinking about himself right now when all appearances say that Misha's the one who really needs help.  
  
  
Dinner with Chad and Alexis is…  _special_ . Most things where Chad sticks his nose in end up being  _special_ , but that's just kind of how Chad works. Just the sort of person that he is. Still, as the three of them settle into the kitchen table in Alexis's student flat, with their take-away from Atomic Burger, Chad decides to take it upon himself to remind Jared that he doesn't care about how many lab reports Jared has to write, or how long Chad's stuck in not-quite-but-getting-close-to-tech-week rehearsals, they're not allowed to go several weeks without making time to sit down for dinner together, with all of his customary grace and tact:  
  
"I mean… JT, you know I love you like a brother," he whines, "but come the Hell on, I can't  _deal_  with all this not seeing you stuff… I thought part of going here together was that we got to hang out more often than just in between classes and work and shit… Besides, I'm not trying to be a dick or anything, but if you're gonna get  _up the duff_ , then you should really tell your best friend, am I right?"  
  
Chad drawls on that phrase— _up the duff_ —pulling his lips back until he looks like a horse and affecting the single worst attempt at British accent Jared has ever hear in his life. More than anything else, Chad sounds like he's just taken a few hits of nitrous oxide, and Jared wishes that Shepp could be here to rip Chad a new one for insulting all the British Isles.  
  
Seeing that Jared isn't impressed with him, Chad mock-sighs and reaches over to attempt stealing some of Jared's sci-fi fries—which gets his hand smacked for the fourth time in the past ten minutes, because fuck Chad, that's why. These are  _Jared's_  chili-covered fries and Alexis got three whole orders of normal fries to act as everyone's supply of deliciousness. Never mind that Jared's already claimed a good half of them as  _his_ , on top of having two burgers all to himself. Chad can eat off the plate in the middle of the table because these fries are  _Jared's_ —besides, his British accent still sucks and, "I'm not pregnant, asshole," Jared insists. "And if I were, you totally just lost godfather privileges."  
  
"You sure  _look_  pregnant," Chad huffs, cramming a few of the fries he's allowed to have into his mouth. At least he has the good sense not to talk with his mouth full when he says: "I mean, I get it, okay? Your boyfriend got all fat and stuff on you, and you want to support him or whatever, but… can't you do it without eating like he knocked you up? Or getting chubby, too? Can't you just… write him a card? Like, 'I love you, even though you're tubby and have self-esteem that doesn't fit with how awesome you are'?"  
  
"Okay, first of all," Jared snaps, only pausing a moment to shove the last bit of his first burger into his mouth and to lick the residue of juice and ketchup off his fingers. "Firstly, Chad? Don't call Jensen, 'fat,' if you mean it as an insult—I  _love_  him, and his body, and yeah, he's kind of fat, but it turns me on  _so much_ , I mean, nothing gets me harder than when he strips for me and his body's all soft—"  
  
"Okay,  _ewwww_ ," Chad whines, not that it stops Jared from going on:  
  
"Secondly? Have you even stopped to think that maybe, if it's my choice and all, you don't really have a place to criticize me for putting on some weight? Like… since Jensen's not twisting my arm into it or anything—and he doesn't even know what I'm up to, actually, so… y'know, he's  _not_  forcing me or even being a manipulative dick—and since that means it's my choice, you think that maybe you could cram a sock in it and let me eat my dinner?"  
  
Chad spends a moment blinking and trying to find the right words for that, which mostly just makes him look like a dying fish, all letting his mouth flop open and then closing it and repeating the process. Finally, he rolls his eyes and manages to quip, "Jesus Christ, since when did you turn into a chick flick on me, BFF? I mean,  _God_ , did you swallow a self-help book for breakfast or something?"  
  
"Well, I think it's sweet," Alexis says, pointedly looking at Jared instead of Chad. Not like Chad would notice, if she looked at him—he's too busy pondering the (apparently quite mystifying) way he can't keep his avocado slices from trying to escape and fall on his plate. He's too busy looking significantly less intelligent than he is, and about the only comfort Jared can take in staring at Chad is that Alexis is staring right along with him, watching Chad fuss around like sandwich architecture is fucking rocket science and whine every time the non-burger contents of his dinner slip around on him.  
  
"I mean it, Jared," Alexis goes on, shaking her head, bringing both herself and Jared back down to earth. "I think there's just something so lovely about what you want to do for Jensen, how much you care about his self-esteem… If you want any help with it, I'm more than happy to bake stuff for you—and my roommates might chip in… Lara and Louise both cook, and I don't know about Cate, but her mum sends care packages all the time, so maybe there's something there?"  
  
Jared snickers, reaching for his Coke. He takes a long sip out of the straw and lets himself blush bright pink, tries not to get distracted by the thought of how he's only had Lara's and Louise's cooking once each, but it was  _so good_ , and he'd be a dumb-ass not to accept that kind of offer… "Well, I mean," he says, huffing and mostly failing to actually tame his attention span. "I mean, it's not just for Jensen's self-esteem? That's kind of a reason, yeah, but it'd kind of suck as a sole reason?"  
  
"Well, it kinda sucks for me," Chad huffs through a mouthful of burger, only bothering to shut up, chew more, and swallow when Alexis gives him A Look as if to say,  _Chad, humans might technically belong to Kingdom Animalia, but for God's sake, were you raised in a **barn**._  "It sucks for  _me_ ," he says again, "and it sucks no matter what the fuck it is, because it's making you act like a dick who doesn't share his fuck-awesome chili fries."   
  
Jared rolls his eyes and pointedly crams several fries, with a dollop of chili and cheese, into his mouth. "Order your own next time, asshat," he says, and turns his attention back to Alexis, because she's not currently making Jared wonder why they're friends in the first place. "It's more, like, for me and less about Jensen, like I was saying. That's part of it, yeah, but it's like… It's kinda shady and unhealthy or whatever to do all of this over my boyfriend, right? It'd be all underhanded and shitty like on my dad's soap operas. And hoping he gets off on it too, yeah, I am—I totally am, can't deny that, but—he, Jensen, I mean. Not he, my dad,  _he_  because that'd just be…"  
  
Jared groans. He hates words and wants to just bang his head against the table until his brain shuts off. As it stands, he'll settle for word-vomiting and hoping he gets the point stuffed up in here eventually: "It's just… The biggest motivation here is just that I like food. I love eating it and whatever everything else about it. And calories? I mean, I kind of like running around and just playing, but I hate actually working out, and I don't want to worry about any of that numbers and balances shit because it never turns out well. So I'm not worrying about it. Just about the food and the not working out. And Jensen's shorter, and he's got the genetic predisposition toward his body type, so he'll probably be bigger than me anyway, so it's like—"  
  
"Oh, no, I understand completely, honey." Despite cutting Jared off (which she never does to anybody), Alexis only nods, looking down at her phone for a moment before she gives Jared an easy, gentle smile. "I just wanted you to know you've got my support, no matter what reasons you've got for doing this, and the offer's out there, if all that makes sense?"  
  
"Ally, for fucking  _seriously_ , though. What's not to make sense out of any of that?" Chad sighs, and the whine that creeps into his voice asks for him,  _why are we being all open and honest and shit about our feelings? you're not going to make me talk about mine next, are you?_ —and for all Jared hadn't intended to try and make Chad miserable tonight, Chad's been a dick since he got here, and turnabout's fair play, right?  
  
"On another note entirely?" Jared says, barely managing to restrain the smirk tugging at his lips. "So, Chad—are you still writing those drunk text love poems to Marissa or did she get you to branch out and do it sober?"  
  
Chad whines. Alexis laughs. Jared wins.  
  
  
Once Chad and Alexis have cleared out, Jared puts himself through a shower and stops to check his weight afterward— _215_ , says the scale, and Jared wants to call bullshit on this idea that he's put on twenty-five pounds. That can't possibly be right. It's way too high. For one thing, his pajama pants aren't even fitting all that differently—a little tighter, maybe, not that it's easy to tell with an elastic waistband and how little change there's actually been to his appearance—sighing, Jared frowns at his reflection. Wrinkles his nose at himself like this will have an effect on anything.  
  
No matter what Chad thinks about how "pregnant" Jared's looking, the reality of the situation is much more underwhelming—sure, Jared's washboard abs aren't around to admire anymore, but the bulge around his middle barely counts as that. It's more like a swelling, like he fell and whanged his stomach on the pavement and he'll have a bruise in the morning but it won't be all that bad. At best, it looks like he's bloated and the only reason Jared knows he's not is that he feels the little bit of pudge. Prods at his stomach ever-so-slightly and loses his fingertip in something soft. Which is an improvement, he guesses, but only because Jared's been thin his entire life and even putting on muscle was a struggle.  
  
As he wriggles into a t-shirt (and doesn't feel any of the jostling he wants to feel around his middle, not even hints of it), Jared just wishes that the weight he's gained would  _show_  more. He's been driving himself up a wall, straining any notions of his stomach's carrying capacity and making himself hurt after most meals… And all he has to show for his efforts is a food-baby. Not that much of one, either.  
  
Despite the handful of assignments he should probably work on, all Jared does when he flops down in front of his laptop is reflexively sign on to Skype and put a call into Jensen. As long as his boy's online, and as long as Jared doesn't feel like working anyway, it just seems like a much better use of his time to chat with Jenny than to worry about… whatever's going on in the world, between the busywork that Jared should finish pretty quickly and the fact that Jared can apparently eat whatever he wants and then some, but still manage not to look like he's gaining weight.  
  
Of course, getting a chance to complain about that works just as well with Jared: he's making kissy faces at the webcam when he notices that it's Misha who picked up on the other end, not Jensen. That he's making an idiot out of himself in front of Misha, and that Jared must absolutely fail at checking who his conversation partner is before jumping on the chance to do something ridiculous. Once they get the explanations and the most basic pleasantries—sorry for not being your boyfriend, he went out to pick up some groceries and the take-out because Misha's not feeling up to it today; yeah, Oxford's great, sorry you're taking a sick day, bro, how's it going with the freshmen you have to babysit, Jensen says they're pretty heinous—out of the way, the first thing out of Jared's mouth is…  
  
"So, like, question for you, Doctor Genius… How is it possible that I've followed all your suggestions, and I've gained twenty-five pounds, and still don't really look all that different? Like, I should be showing by now, right? More than I am, anyway, since it's really not a lot? I look like I just had a big lunch and it's kind of super disheartening?"  
  
Misha just huffs, rolling his eyes and slouching back into the sofa, staring down at Jared like he just suggested getting matching orange polka dot tattoos. "Well, have you maybe considered the fact that you're half-giant?" he drawls. "Seriously, Jared. How tall  _are_  you?" (He only pauses long enough for Jared to say,  _six-five_ .) "Yeah, my point exactly—you're Rubeus Hagrid's random Polish cousin, you're built like a tank, and you've been gaining steadily instead of putting it all on at once—well… it's kind of a lot to put on in about ten weeks or whatever, but my point is, you didn't put it on in like, four or six weeks—and the difference  _will_  get more noticeable…"  
  
It's kind of cute, Jared thinks, the way that Misha babbles pointlessly when he's trying to pull out some bullshit mastery and keep someone from noticing something. It makes Jared smile and snicker at him, anyway, and outright laughs when Misha throws out there: "I swear to God, between your shenanigans over your weight and your boyfriend's over his and my obnoxious fucking freshmen, I'm going to go crazy."  
  
"Miiiisha," Jared sighs, half-sing-songing it because, really, if Misha's going to sit there and look so adorably bedraggled, then he has to deal with Jared being cutesy at him, especially when he doesn't seem to realize what he just said (which maybe Jared should chalk up to Misha not feeling well, but… eh, this is more fun). "Are you trying to make my boyfriend faaaaat?"  
  
"Well, I could tell you but I'd have to kill you," Misha deadpans, shrugs, defuses Jared's fun. "And then your boyfriend and your cousin would probably be very,  _very_  mad at me, whether I got away with it or not, and… Really, it's just too much effort for all involved, so why don't we talk about something else."  
  
"Dude, it's fine if you are, you know—I mean, when have I  _ever_  objected to Jensen—"  
  
"It's not that I think it's not fine, Jared. It's just that this isn't  _my_  thing to tell you about…" He huffs, and probably realizing that he's gotten caught, tacks on, "Yes, okay?  _Yes_ . Jensen asked me to fill in as his substitute feeder while you're abroad—but there's nothing hinky going on with, like,  _us_ , and more importantly?  _You're_  not supposed to find out about it until you get back, so… act surprised or something."  
  
"Yeah, because it's not kind of totally obvious that he's gotten bigger since I left." Seriously. Jared loves his boyfriend, but sometimes, Jensen's really kind of a ditz. Never in a bad way, just… in a way where he doesn't think about some of the blatant holes in his logic. "Whatever…" Jared shrugs. "I won't go around telling him anything, if I'm not supposed to know. Anyway… Are you okay?"  
  
Misha's sick day aside, he doesn't have the look about him of somebody who's only a little bit not-okay in a temporary sort of sense—he has the look of somebody who's got way too much on his mind. And it's not really shocking that he shrugs at this—downplaying things is, unfortunately, Misha's favorite way of handling things—or that he supposes that he's fine, for the most part… But Jared's eyes about fall out of his head when, in the middle of his gabbing, Misha gets saying: "Of course, Jensen's weight's not the only issue here because I've been putting some on myself…"  
  
Jared says nothing. Just blinks at Misha, squints, and thinks,  _no fucking way_ . Maybe it's just the fact that they're talking via shitty webcam instead of in-person, and the image is all grainy instead of anything Jared could actually determine things from. Maybe Misha's actually gained a good bit, he's not showing that much, just like how Jared's not showing that much either—or maybe it's just that Misha's t-shirt doesn't fit him too tightly… But whatever's going on here, Misha does not look all that different from when Jared wandered off to Oxford. About the only thing he looks is healthier. Less like he's on the verge of passing out, anyway. Which, considering Misha's supposed to be sick, really, really doesn't make sense or settle Jared's stomach any.  
  
"And it's kind of a lot of weight to gain? Just like how your twenty-five pounds isn't something to scoff at?" Misha keeps going. He's slipped into that mode where he could keep talking while getting dragged out of a burning building or getting a broken limb set in the ER. Which is cute, exactly the way it is normally, just like most things that Misha does when he doesn't pay attention to how he wants people to see him or keeping up his douchebag facade—except that, right now, it's just going at Jared's nerves with a nail-file, leaving him with a sinking, anvil feeling in his gut that screams,  _something is really fucking wrong here, or if not outright wrong, then at the very least, it's **not okay**_ .  
  
"It's kind of a lot for me, anyway," Misha sighs. "I don't want to put a number on it, and maybe it's really not all that much in the grand scheme of things… Except that unlike Jensen, I don't really like this when it's happening to me. Not least since it's been unintentional, just slipping up and not properly keeping an eye on myself—not for lack of trying, obviously… I just need to take better care of myself? More attentive care of myself, I mean. I've been stressed and busy as all get-out, so it's not like I haven't got a reason for everything, but it's not an  _excuse_  for how bad it's getting—so I'm getting on a diet, starting tomorrow, because this is really just—"  
  
"Wait, really?" Jared doesn't mean to interrupt Misha. Not entirely. He knows better, nominally, and the frustrated kitty look that Misha gets doesn't manage to make Jared feel less like an asshole for that. It's only that… "I mean, you're aware that you're kind of pretty skinny, right?"  
  
Misha laughs, but it's not a comforting sound—it's more like the sort of bark Jared thinks werewolves ought to have. It's harsh, and dark, and it makes Jared flinch. "It's nice of you to think so, I guess," Misha says, with a chuckle lingering under his voice and dragging through the words like a razor's edge through skin. "But I'm really not doing so well over here, weight-wise, Jared—and it's getting kind of out-of-hand, hence why I'm of the mind that my fat ass needs to get on a diet, like,  _yesterday_ . And since I can't time-travel and I've been sick all day… Tomorrow's just going to have to suffice."  
  
"Misha," Jared sighs heavily, and only barely manages not to ask the primary question kicking around in his skull. He can't ask that, at least not without getting his facts clear first: "Misha, are we—like, I know we mostly only ever started hanging out because of Jensen and Genevieve, but… we're friends, right?"  
  
"Of all the… Okay, yeah, I know it's not always easy, dealing with me, and maybe I'm not—maybe I don't go out of my way to be an open book or anything, but I've got my reasons for that, and it's not like… Yeah, I know I'm an asshole, Jared, but… Of course we're friends. Even considering the circumstances or the, 'how we got to be friends in the first place' part, or—"  
  
"You're not an asshole," Jared says, because fuck whatever self-effacing,  _look at how totally not serious this conversation is, I'm a deflection master, watch me deflect_  crap Misha's trying to pull, maybe he actually believes that thing about him being a dick, which means he needs to hear that it's wrong. "Kind of off-putting to a lot of people, sure, but you're a good guy and anybody who'd blame you for being selective about who you want to—okay, never mind this. It's true, but it's not the point—"  
  
"There's a point here?" Misha says, and folds his arms over his stomach, starts hugging himself like this is going to say,  _fuck off and leave me alone_ , instead of,  _I feel vulnerable and scared and I probably need a hug or ten_ . "I'd assumed you were just making this up as you go along."  
  
"Well, yeah, I am, but that's besides the point," Jared huffs. "And I do have one. …I didn't mean to ask that, like you're some kind of atrocious dick or something, I just meant… We're friends, so, like, I'm allowed to hypothetically ask you something kind of serious and, even if it's not really my business, you'll listen and I'm allowed to be concerned? Right?"  
  
Jared wants to say  _worried_ , but he figures that  _concerned_  means basically the same thing and has less of a chance of making Misha feel bad, since it's kind of less serious than worried. As far as Jared's word choice goes: Misha shrugs, says that sure, yeah, Jared's allowed to be concerned because they're friends, and Misha's going to listen to him because they're  _friends_ , and whatever seriousness is going on, Misha won't just pull out some major douchebag move and dismiss it, he'd never do that, because  _they're friends_ —none of which makes Jared stop nibbling at his lower lip, or conspiratorially leaning in closer to his screen, or feel less like he's walking on a tightrope over an active volcano as he says:  
  
"Misha? Do you have an eating disorder?"  
  
On the one hand, and because Jared's trying to be as positive as he can about this situation, Misha doesn't just dismiss this out-of-hand—which is what Jared expects, because unfortunately, he's been here before with other people, most of whom immediately responded with,  _Are you insane? Of course I don't have an eating disorder_ , and considering Misha's a Very Private Person, Jared spends the moment of silence that drops in between them half-convinced that Misha's going to snap at him any second now and start rabbiting on about how wrong he wants Jared to be.  
  
On the other hand, though, Misha's reaction isn't exactly good, for all Jared guesses it could be worse. There's the clamming up thing, yeah. And there's how Misha pales, and hugs himself tighter, and holds his breath as he stares off away from the sofa—vaguely, it occurs to Jared that he's probably looking at the door. Probably trying to make sure that Jensen's not wandering in on them, which Jared guesses is fair, even though he kind of wishes that Jensen  _would_  show up. Mostly because he lives with Misha and can actually do something about any hypothetical problems, but in a general sense, it's just that…  
It's just that Jensen is Misha's best friend. And Jensen worries, which makes Jared worry, not least since they've both noticed that Misha has trouble getting through a conversation without seeming totally unaccustomed to the idea that people might be nice to him. And there's already so much that Misha keeps from Jensen—at least, there's one huge thing, in particular, and it wouldn't surprise Jared if there were more, because Misha's like a human oyster—and there's no way somebody can bottle so much up without it taking some kind of a toll on him. A toll on him that's bound to be pretty awful for reasons other than how nobody knows him at all, and that nobody deserves, not least somebody who's so amazing, despite the laundry list of things Misha says as "proof" of the contrary.  
  
And, on the tentacle, there's how, when he finally does something active, Misha grabs onto his stomach with both hands, pinching into something soft and pushing it forward, and says, "Do I  _look_  like I have an eating disorder?"  
  
"I don't know, do you?" Jared shrugs, trying not to think,  _oh, I guess he has gained a little weight, but he carries it well and it looks good on him, so what's the problem_ —because this conversation is some thin ice territory enough already without Jared possibly saying that for real and making everything worse. "I'm not trying to play stupid with you or anything, Meesh—I'm not. But… there are lots of ways to look with an eating disorder, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, I know people say that, but it's not really true."  
  
Misha's face doesn't fall as much as it completely glasses over, gets looking like the expression of someone who's stared into the abyss for long enough that the abyss started inviting him around for tea. Just looking at him gets Jared feeling like someone just dumped a bucket of ice cubes down the back of his shirt.  
  
To say nothing of how nauseated he feels, searching Misha's half-dead eyes and the way he tongues at his lips for any hints that he's playing some kind of elaborate joke, that he's waiting for Jared to believe him so he can go,  _wakka wakka wakka, April Fool's in November, I got you so good!_ —and Jared can't decide if he's relieved or not when nothing turns up. Like, okay, it means he's right about Misha—at least, right about Misha on the count where he's a good person who'd never dick around like that, not about something so serious—but it also means that Jared's probably right about the eating disorder thing.  
  
Because no matter what Misha can pull out by way of covering his ass—and considering it's  _Misha_ , the guy who could have whole hand full up of aces while playing Five-Card Stud and get away with it, Jared guesses that Misha's list of possible excuses is probably huge—nobody's face gets that dark, nobody's voice gets that serious and certain of itself without some kind of personal experience. Probably the sort of personal experience that not even sadists or sociopaths would wish on anybody because it's just that bad.  
  
For his part, Misha just shrugs. Hums pensively. Brushes his hair back off his face. "I just mean, like… Almost nobody believes it when they say so? I've met doctors and counselors who didn't believe it, and even if I did have an eating disorder, I'm not underweight—rather the opposite, actually—and it's pretty obviously not an issue, since I'm neither dying nor careening into some kind of tailspin where I might die—"  
  
"Except it obviously  _is_  a fucking issue to somebody who cares about you," Jared snaps, and cuts himself off in the middle of trying to go on because… because Misha, pretty much. Because Jared looks back at Misha—at how he's gone all pale and wide-eyed and he's making that face like Jared's an exceptionally unpredictable baby dragon—at how Misha's not putting up any pretenses, but somehow managing to make Jared wish he would, because the reality of the situation, the part where Misha has absolutely no goddamn idea how to respond to kindness, to people showing him concern?  
  
It makes Jared want to put his fist through a brick wall, because he has no idea who ever got it in their heads to treat Misha so badly that he expects people to be dicks to him, but fucking them up the way that Jared wants to do would probably get him arrested. Which would suck, for all it'd be worth it until some cop slapped the cuffs on Jared's wrists.  
  
"Look, I don't want to push it too much or anything," Jared says through a sigh, shaking out his own hair because… well, better to take out his frustration on something inanimate and not likely to break his hand. "I mean. It's not my business, and I'm not you so I don't know how you're feeling, or anything like that? But… as someone who cares about you, Meesh? It  _is_  a fucking issue that you kinda talk yourself down a lot, and don't get that you're kind of really awesome, and maybe have an eating disorder—because maybe you're physically okay? But that doesn't mean the feelings stuff isn't still an issue… You get what I'm saying?"  
  
"I get that you should be a therapist, or investigate switching majors, what with all those technical terms…" Misha's being funny. Jared thinks he probably shouldn't smirk, but he does anyway, because at least Misha's default to snarking makes the situation feel a little less tense. Not that it means too much. Like, it's just going from, "overly strained guitar strings" to, "edgy like a freshly sharpened knife"—but it helps, kind of. It helps enough that Jared settles a bit.  
  
With a shrug, though, Misha doesn't just drop the serious stuff: "Yeah, I get what you're saying, Jared, but… I don't really want to talk about this right now, okay? Because it's a long story, and it's complicated, and I don't feel up to it tonight, besides which, it's all in the past and kind of not really an issue anymore, so let's just… I mean. You're not the first person who's ever suggested that, and I'll grant that, yeah, I could probably have a better relationship with food, and my body, and with… y'know… everything in that realm? But. I'm okay. Not perfectly fine, but that's because of everything else, not the fact that I'd like to get rid of the weight I've gained this term? It's not obsessive or taking over my life. It's just a matter of personal comfort, okay? …I don't have an eating disorder; I have an anxiety disorder; they're  _different_."  
  
"Okay," Jared sighs, for all he doesn't really want to say it or let this go.  _He's still being worrisome and all, but at least… It could be worse, right? He's admitting to some stuff instead of writing the possibility off entirely, and he's actually being pretty open, by Misha standards, so maybe it's not so bad?_  "Just… if you ever do get feeling like anything's wrong? I'm here for you, okay? I know I'm kind of a handful sometimes, but… Whatever you need me to do or try to be for you, if it's ever anything at all? Just tell me and I'll do it, okay?"  
  
Misha huffs. Smiles a little bit (for all he rolls his eyes to go along with that) as he oozes off the sofa and to the floor, like it'd take too much effort to actually use his bones and muscles. Leans into the webcam and says, "If you tell anybody I got all sentimental like this, I will cut your balls off, but…" He sighs. Smiles more earnestly. Stares into the webcam so it looks like he's looking Jared in the eyes for real. "Handful's not the word I'd use for you. Sometimes, 'hurricane' is more like it—but hurricane or not? You're a really good friend, Jared. And regardless of how we got here and the, 'maybe we only did because Jensen' thing, I just… I'm really glad we're friends."  
  
Which doesn't make everything completely better, but… It makes Jared smile back at Misha, and it puts him a little more at ease as Misha changes the subject, tries to ask about Jared's classes instead.  
  
  
By the time Jared first properly meets Misha, he's dated Jensen for a few months and he's stuck in some emotional Limbo. One that's entirely made up of wondering if Misha's really, legitimately busy all the time, hence the way he always has appointments to be at or library shifts to cover or homework to do when he could meet Jared—or if, maybe, Misha just doesn't like him.  
  
Jared and Jensen have dated for a good while more than that—long enough for Misha to go through his relationships with Matt, Katherine, and Jeff—before Jared gets to have any kind of rapport with Misha, any kind of discussion that lasts longer than a few minutes and isn't mediated by Jensen—and not from lack of trying on Jared's part. More from how, like Jensen says, Misha's just a really private person. Naturally, Jared  _tries_  to talk to him—ask him how it's going in Misha Land, tries to get his opinion on group activities that Misha mostly skips out on, invites him to breakfast when Jared stays over and cooks on weekend mornings—but Misha's just a Very Private Person.  
  
Sure, he acts like he's Mister I-Bring-The-Party, but he barely talks to Matt and Katherine, after he breaks up with them, and Jared's pretty sure that the only reason Jeff hangs around is that they were never serious in the first place. Not like they don't care about each other and never did, but just that it was friendship and it was sex, but it wasn't  _A Relationship_.  
  
Genevieve's a whole different sort of animal, and she probably hangs around because, like Misha, one of her primary defense mechanisms is grinning and acting spontaneous, and the other one is being snarky. And because she and Misha have some kind of mind-link from clicking with each other so well. It'd be creepy and weird, but on the one hand, Jared's in favor of his cousin being happy, and since whatever shenanigans Gen gets up to with Misha make her happy and no one's getting hurt, they're cool. On the other, Jared's in favor of Misha having more friends. And on the third, they're so adorable, as friends or as significant others, that Jared can't even resent them for the time they put a shaving cream label on a can of aerosol whipped cream just to see if Jared's so out of it in the mornings that he wouldn't notice the blatantly different spray tops.  
  
He didn't notice. He nicked himself for the first time in a few months. Clean-up was a fucking mess—but, on the plus, it was pretty funny and Jared's face smelled like sugar all day. …And Jensen didn't seem to mind how Jared's face smelled, which was an unquestionable bonus.  
  
This sort of pondering makes up one of Jared's biggest complaints about the distance between him and his home, right now. He's making the most of Oxford, of this trip abroad—Jared wouldn't dream of letting this go to waste (maybe to his waist, but that's just because he fails at making  _good_  puns)—he's even got a short internship thing lined up with one of his professors here, for which he's put in to take next semester off from school, and no idea how to break it to Jensen that he's not coming home for Christmas, won't be able to get home until Valentine's Day.  
  
It was easier to tell Dr. Tucker than just to think about telling Jensen. And Jared's pretty sure it's not supposed to work like that. Boyfriend vs. supervising the sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really-an-internship gig that Jared's got waiting for him back home, previously because he wanted it for its own merit and now because he needs permission to stay on campus? Boyfriend should win that, hands down. Doctor Tucker could've given Jared's position to somebody else and left him hanging—but still, telling her didn't make his skin crawl. Thinking about asking her for a couple weeks' extension didn't put some storm of butterflies in Jared's stomach.  
  
The mere thought of telling Jensen that he's going to be gone for slightly longer than either of them expected or planned for, though? Makes Jared want to curl up in a fetal position and leaves him certain that he's going to get sick.  
  
Maybe that's why he can't get Misha out of his head. Maybe that's why he's got lab blocks tomorrow, and a full day of other things besides, but Jared's still awake and thinking about things he can't do shit about because  _they're_  back stateside and he's over here. In the UK. Pretty much powerless to help his friends with anything, unless they're Chad, Alexis, or otherwise right on-hand. Maybe Jared's just kind of selfishly deflecting, or projecting, or whatever the psych student word for what he's doing is—but Misha's his friend, and Misha agreed on that count, and whatever's going on with Misha's going to be going on with Jensen, too (at least in that Jensen will have to deal with it), so even if they weren't friends, Jared has every reason to get concerned…  
  
And Jared doesn't want to make assumptions—he knows this is dangerous to even vaguely entertain and maybe not entirely his business—but considering things in retrospect? Especially in light of whatever he was on about tonight? Looks to Jared like Misha's either got an eating disorder or some weird disease that makes him sick if he eats the same high-calorie deliciousness that Jensen and Jared like. And some evidence kicking around the back of Jared's mind says it's probably not the latter, much as that would be… not nicer, but at least not maybe intervention-needing.  
  
The sick thing is that the signs are so  _obvious_ —maybe not obvious indications of some disorder, but definitely obvious that Misha has some kind of Issue With Food. Misha acts as though he's only allowed to eat rabbit food while watching other people binge on stuff he admits to liking, and not just casually looking on, but  _watching_ , fixated by it, like his head's going to explode if he even considers glancing anywhere else. Misha cooks for people, says that cooking for people makes him feel better when he's stressed, but almost never goes in for seconds himself, not even when his portions tend to be tiny. When he skips out on breakfast, it's always to go for a run, or skip over Jared's cooking in favor of, like, a single hardboiled egg or a kid-sized bowl of Special K and nothing else.  
  
And again? Jared doesn't know shit, aside from knowing that he  _doesn't know shit_. Maybe Misha has something medical going on instead of something that's all psychological and complicated. Maybe Misha's apparent preoccupation with his weight and his fucked up idea that he's fat are just manifestations of him worrying about his hypothetical medical thing—like, maybe he's just pretending to be worried about that stuff because it's easier to understand or more socially acceptable to phrase it like,  _My fat ass needs to be on a diet, like, yesterday_  and,  _Do I **look**  like I have an eating disorder, Genius_.  
  
Except that Jared knows how these things look. It's the weirdest fucking thing—Jensen attracts weirdos like bugs around a week-old half-full pop can, Misha attracts smart people like little kids to Happy Meal toys, and Jared just keeps finding people who have food issues. On the, "not really all that bad, considering" side, there's the sheer number of random allergies that Chad has and Alexis's hang-up about high fructose corn syrup. And on the, "oh, fuck" side, there's how Jared remembers watching Tom, Kristen, and Allison all go through different kinds of tailspins during freshman year before they all, eventually, got help.  
  
There's how Jared remembers watching Tom, who's almost as tall as he is, get down to a hundred-forty-five pounds and still think he needed to lose fifteen more. There's how Tom had to lose another five pounds and pass out in the dining hall in the middle of finals week before anybody would get that maybe Jared wasn't just making shit up (never mind that he'd already been right about Kristen and Allison, by that point). There's how Jared knew before she said anything that Ashley spent most of last year in her own kind of Hell, how he tried to reach out and help her but just got shut out, how everybody else was shocked when she went to an inpatient clinic just before spring break and how Jared almost broke Chad's face for saying that, just because Ashley was an attention-seeker in other ways, maybe she was making up her disorder.  
  
There's how nothing could ever make him forget how hard Megan's had it with her own struggles—because maybe Jared doesn't live that close to his baby sister, like Jensen and Mackenzie, even when he's not abroad… but he'd never forget how bad it's been for her. How she "got better" after her first tailspin in middle school, and how everybody let down their guard about it because she was better, she was fine… at least until Jared left for school, she got convinced that she'd never get into Yale, and she would've run herself into the ground even if she'd been eating properly. Jared and Genevieve came home for their freshman year's Christmas to find Megan in the middle of a full-blown relapse, and he's admittedly been Facebook-stalking her a little bit since he got here. Because Jared knows that senior year is rough for everybody, and he just wants to be sure that Megan's okay.  
  
And everything fits with Misha. It's a consolation prize, that Jared's not the only one who's noticed—not least since the people Misha hangs around with most are all a bunch of geniuses, and probably better equipped to help him than Jared is—but it's not that much of a consolation prize. Jared's still here. Tossing, turning, losing sleep while he mulls this mess of stuff over and just thanks God that, yeah, he has his bio lab tomorrow, but at least it's not his chem lab.  
  
It's just that  _everything fits_ —Misha's such a perfectionist, he's so hard on himself (especially when he thinks he's joking), his support network's solid but it's not that big and maybe he does that on purpose… and the distorted ideas he has about himself aren't limited to his weight, either. He comes off all hilarious and charming and nutty, because he  _is_  hilarious and charming and nutty, but he tries to act like that's all he is, or all anybody wants him to be, and as for letting people get any kind of close to him? Like, close enough that maybe, they could help?  
  
Well, Jared can't say for how Misha is with anybody else, but the only reason Misha ever sat down that first time and had any kind of proper conversation with Jared? Was Genevieve.  
  
Jared's not even making that up, much less thinking it from a place of judgment, because Misha's the one who said it in the first place and Jared remembers it so clearly—it's a couple weeks until finals and maybe Jared should be working, but instead, he's at Jensen and Misha's kitchen table, hunched over one of the paperback Vonnegut novels Jensen wanted him to read. They're pretty good, which surprises Jared because he's usually put off by people who blatantly write science-fiction and try to say they don't, like all sci-fi can ever be is pulp Flash Gordon paperbacks, even if they're supposed to be Earth-moving geniuses of recent American literature or whatever.  
  
And it's not like Jared doubts his boyfriend's taste, but aside from guessing that  _Mother Night_  and  _The Sirens Of Titan_  aren't that bad—at least, not as bad as that freaking "Harrison Bergeron" story Jared had to read in high school English—he doesn't really get why this Vonnegut guy's supposed to have been so brilliant. Good writer? Sure, Jared'll give him that. But for all the hype Jensen gave these books, _Mother Night_ 's currently making Jared  _want_  to plow through all the busywork of this weekend's homework.  
  
He's almost glad when someone says, "Hey, Jared? Can we… do you have a second?" because any distraction is a good distraction. At least, Jared's glad until he looks up from his book and sees Misha standing by the sofa, standing halfway on the kitchen's linoleum and halfway on the living room's carpet, hugging himself around the middle and only holding Jared's gaze for moment before he coughs and shits to staring at his feet instead. Behind him, Genevieve sits on the couch's armrest and it takes Jared a good minute to get that she's giving that expectant, wide-eyed,  _get the fuck on with it already_ expression to Misha—Jared's first guess about this is still:  
  
"What did I do this time—I mean, yeah, I've got a second, but… did I screw something up without realizing it again?" That's about the only explanation for this that Jared has, even when Genevieve pats Misha on the shoulder, smirks at him, and mutters something indistinct that decidedly includes the words,  _and be nice_. Misha hisses something back that sounds like,  _of course I'll be nice, am I ever not nice_ , which mostly, Jared can't make out and, whatever it specifically was he said, it ends with Genevieve hugging him around the waist, sighing contentedly as she nuzzles at his chest.  
  
Jared should probably look away—not least when Misha hugs her back, just because it's getting too close to voyeurism and peeking at things it's not his right to see—but… He can't. Well. He probably could, but as he dog-ears his page and sets the book down on the table, starts fiddling with a pen just so he has something to do with his fingers, Jared doesn't  _want_  to look away.  
  
Not like he's especially interested in either Misha's or Genevieve's bodies, but the contrast is sort of, to use one of Jensen's cool art student words, visually dynamic. They're both wearing black, which makes it a little less interesting, but Jared can get around that to appreciate how their different bodies look next to each other. With Misha being all tall, and pale, and whippet-thin while Genevieve's all short, and her skin's still got hints of last summer's tan, and she's put on more than a little bit of weight while dating him. Maybe it's just more obvious because Gen's always been so tiny and this new look's so different for her, but from Jared's angle, it looks like Misha's got a rather considerable amount of soft pudge to press against and get lost in—and to grope at when he drops a hand to her waist, brushes his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt.  
  
Since they're not watching him, Jared's got free reign to smirk knowingly and shake his head.  _Yeah, right, you're not turned on by chubby people, Misha—Jensen doesn't believe that and neither do I. Like recognizes like, Skinny, and I gotta say? You're looking pretty damn familiar to me right now_ —and Jared gets not wanting to come out about that kind of thing. He only doesn't bother making it a secret because he's got the tact of a diamond-coated brick or a bullet to the head, he can't keep secrets to save his life, and most of the time, he doesn't care enough to bother with other people's reactions to how much he likes that Jensen's been putting on weight. But if Misha doesn't want to advertise that beyond his significant others, that's cool too—Genevieve's clearly down with it, and as long as Misha's doing right by her, he's doing right by Jared.  
  
Jared doesn't want to estimate how much or put a number on how much weight his cousin's gained, just because he's not allowed to do that without Gen calling him an asshole and throwing something at his face, but it's enough that, "chubby" is really just a polite understatement. Which looks nice on her. Comfortable and aesthetically pleasing, Jared means—her soft, rounded stomach is giving her shirt a bit of trouble. Not that much, but her shirt's clearly a tad too small, riding up just enough to expose the lower curve of her belly as it sags over the waistband of her jeans, nudges up on Misha's slender middle (which not even his oversized sweatshirt can hide or make look any less thin).  
  
Balancing that out, her hips and ass have filled out nicely, into a blatant pear shape, which Misha clearly appreciates, just judging by how he lets go of her tummy, gingerly brushes his fingers around Gen's side and down her back, then grins as he grabs her ass. She huffs like she's offended, but her smile's clear even from where Jared's sitting, and she leans up to coax Misha into a kiss. One that goes past "affectionate" territory and more into, "hey, you guys, I'm still here, and you're not making out yet, but if you've really got a problem with mine and Jensen's PDA, there are better ways to let me know about that than passive-aggressively almost making out in front of me."  
  
At least it doesn't last that long—Genevieve breaks it off soon enough, giving Misha another briefer, gentler kiss and whispering something Jared can't hear, but that makes Misha sigh and say that yes, yes, he heard Gen the first ten times. She wanders off after that, toes into her sneakers and says she'll call Misha later, and leaves the two of them… Jared just sits there, and Misha just stands there, and everything gets the sort of quiet that's worse than any other kind of quiet because, while it's gnawing on Jared's nerves, it's so obvious that they could just avoid this if someone would speak up already…  
  
Except that Jared can only blink at Misha, having no idea what the Hell is going on, and Misha sort of rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, then dashes over to the table. Fumbles into the chair opposite Jared. Starts wringing his hands on the table, and only manages to say, "…Hi."  
  
Jared keeps blinking at Misha and echoes his  _Hi_ —and as for words? …Yeah, Jared should probably use those, or have a better idea of how to string them into sentences, or something, but… He must've nodded off and started having some Bizarro World nightmare. It's got to be that. He can't imagine any other explanation working—because, at this point in their friendship, Jared's seen enough of Misha to know that he's not all of who he pretends to be… That he's not really his facade of Misha Collins, the somewhat obnoxious, overly outgoing, fake-smiling dick who collects phone numbers like he's putting together the Yellow Pages and almost never calls anyone, save for a few select people.  
  
But seeing him like this? Seeing him all tiny-looking and curling in on himself when he's usually the center of attention in any room he wanders into? …Jared can't even fight off the case of bug-eyes he gets, because it's too shocking—sets his mind reeling too much to properly think about—he knows that he has no idea who Misha really is behind closed doors, when he's not trying to impress people or act like the guy so many people think he is, but that knowledge can't soothe Jared any. Can't make this any less  _weird_ , and eventually, he has to ask—  
  
"Meesh? You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, it's just…"  
  
It's just that Misha's heavy sigh sounds anything but fine. But that's only Jared's opinion on things, and nobody asked for it, so Jared guesses it's probably not a big deal. Even as he sits up a bit, Misha keeps his shoulders hunched, like whatever he's got on his mind weighs so much that it's taking itself out on his body, too, and aside from that, he can't hold eye contact with Jared. He keeps trying. His eyes dart around the entire kitchen and every so often, come back to Jared, linger on him for a moment, then resume refusing to stay put. He digs one thumb into the back of his hand so hard that Jared's shocked when it doesn't leave a mark.  
  
"I don't want to be doing this," Misha says eventually, because his body language is totally the sign of someone who's thrilled to be where he is. "It's nothing personal, Jared, at least not against you… It's sort of really personal on my end, which is a big part of  _why_  I don't want to be doing this, and again? It's not against you, because you're a great guy, and you're great to my best friend, which is even more important, but…"  
  
"But?" Jared prods, after Misha's trailing off leads to him going way too quiet—not even for too long, just for long enough to make Jared antsy. Make him need to know what the Hell is coming after that dangling  _but_.  
  
Misha just sighs again, rolling his shoulders and combing his fingers back through his hair. " _But_ , regardless of my feelings on the best course of action for this—which is to just drop it, leave it alone, and trust it to work itself out, which is what I've always done with it and it's worked out pretty well for me—by executive order of my girlfriend, I'm supposed to…"  
  
Another sigh, and for all he sounds like an agitated teapot, at least Misha stops wringing his hands. Granted, it's just so he can wave one around in front of his face, rotating it on his wrist, but that's a lot better than the clenching and the finger-digging and all of that—it was starting to make Jared get goosebumps on the back of his neck, wondering when Misha was going to start hurting himself on accident. Dropping his hand and arm back to the table, Misha slumps back into his chair, makes its legs and his dollar store flip-flops scrape against the floor.  
  
"I don't even know why Genevieve decided this was necessary, but I'm supposed to come, 'talk to you like normal people'—" He rolls his eyes. Makes quotation marks with his fingers. Which, in turn, makes Jared want to laugh, and he only doesn't because Misha's drowning in the black zip-up hooded sweatshirt he's got on (one Jared recognizes as Jensen's), because he's pale and looks ready to puke and wilting in that chair, and like everything else about this situation, it's  _weird_. Like if Misha's not someone else entirely, then at least, Jared's getting a privileged glimpse at things mere mortals were never meant to see, like a bathing goddess or the Ark of the Covenant.  
  
"I haven't the slightest idea why we're supposed to talk like normal people when, if you ask me, the circumstances are anything but that, but…" Taking a deep breath, Misha leans his head back, and for the first time, it really occurs to Jared that Misha is  _skinny_. Like, it's not surprising—he's only ever known Misha to be thin—but he looks thinner than usual, right now. Like he's been losing weight that he didn't need to lose. His Adam's apple sticks out so far and his jawbone strains against his skin, and the only thing that keeps Jared from interjecting to ask if he's sick or not feeling well or something because he really doesn't  _look_  okay? Is that Misha picks up explaining himself again before Jared can find the words:  
  
"Well, as Genevieve put it, I'm apparently, 'letting this thing eat me up inside,' and, 'it's a danger to my happiness, hers, yours, and Jensen's,' and I quote, 'dammit, Pretty Boy, you don't have to tell Jensen, I'm not going to make you do that—but at least get it out in the open with my cousin, or I know where you sleep and will stop frequenting it.'"  
  
"Wait, what about Jen… I mean… what're you trying to get at?" Jared splutters on the heels of another dragging moment of silence, only barely managing to keep himself from losing his cool over the mere implication that something might be wrong with Misha and that it would make something go wrong with Jensen— _What about Jensen's happiness being in danger? His happiness isn't in danger—I'll beat reality with a stick to make that true if I have to, Misha, because his happiness means that much to me, but if something's wrong and it might hurt him, you have to tell me…_  
  
"What I'm trying to get at is that your cousin, my girlfriend, doesn't  _really_  think I'm a home-wrecking whore, but that this doesn't keep her from teasing me about it… or from deciding that this thing is serious when it's blatantly not—I mean, it hasn't blown up in anyone's face for as long as I've known Jensen, so almost four years, because it's been an issue for almost as long, and…" He finally looks at Jared for more than a half-moment, and gapes like a fish out of water almost immediately. There's not any way he could get paler, but for a moment, Misha sure looks like he's losing the last spots of color in his face.  
  
"Oh, God, Jared, please…" he says, and his voice sounds so small. So lost. "Please,  _please_  don't make that face—Jared, you really, honestly don't have to worry about this, or about Jensen. He's fine. And it's fine, and everything's fine—I swear to God, Genevieve's just being dramatic about it for reasons I can't even begin to understand. It's not  _serious_ , Jared; it's  _stupid_. And it's not any kind of big deal, it never has been, I don't even know why Gen thought you had to get clued into this because it's  _not_  a big deal, or any of your responsibility. Handling it's  _my_  responsibility, it always has been, you don't really need to know—"  
  
"What don't I need to know?" Jared interjects, and pauses because his voice gets loud enough to scare him—not to mention make Misha stare at Jared like a terrified puppy; he's not whimpering, but if he did, it wouldn't surprise Jared any—all of which means Jared needs to take a moment and a few deep breaths. "Misha, please… I mean, I know Gen—she doesn't blow things out of proportion or meddle like that unless there's really something serious going on… She needs a reason to do things like that. So… come on—this is a judgment-free zone, okay? Whatever's going on that she wants you to tell me… what'm I supposed to be getting clued in on, Meesh? What's going on?"  
  
Fussing with the hem of his sweatshirt's sleeves, Misha shrugs. Sighs. Stares at the table as though it's the single most interesting thing in the world. "Oh… nothing much, not really," he says, drawls in a way that just smacks of him trying to convince himself of what he's selling. "Just this  _thing_ , you know… I, uhm. I have this disease where I'm incapable of loving anybody who isn't way too good for me, and sort of, kind of hopelessly crush on one person in particular, then date other people who are also way too good for me because he has no idea and probably wouldn't reciprocate if he did, so it's like… It's like, whatever, you know? I'm a grown-up about it and I don't expect anything out of him, like, ever, and Genevieve…"  
  
A shrug, and then Misha's shoulders drop lower than they've been yet. "I don't know, she thinks my helpless pining is making me miserable, when really, it's more like I'm just busy and stressed about finals and graduation and everything else going on, but of course it has to be the more dramatic explanation because it's more interesting for Genevieve or something… Do you get what I'm trying to say?"  
  
"Do you?" Jared throws out there before he even thinks about it—and he jumps right into shaking his head and trying to cover his ass: "I'm sorry, that was really harsh, I didn't mean, like—I didn't mean it like it sounded, I just… Yeah, no, I don't really get what you're trying to say, Misha? I kind of want to bake you a whole box of cupcakes and give you a huge hug, from the sound of it, but… I'm still lost over here."  
  
Jared could make some guesses, if he felt like it, but they'd probably be wrong. From what he gathers, there's mostly something going on with Misha thinking his own feelings are stupid, which is just… really upsetting. Like, how can anybody actually think that about themselves? Especially not when they're somebody like Misha—somebody whose whole existence, whether he means it this way or not, seems to be predicated on being cooler than everyone and failing to give a fuck—somebody who's pretty awesome, as far as Jared can tell. Even if Misha pulls a face, shakes his head, and mutters,  _no, thanks, I mean, hugs are fine but not cupcakes, I'm good without any cupcakes in my life_ —which only manages to be worrisome in retrospect.  
  
Misha sighs after that, though, and for the first time, it doesn't sound agitated or frustrated or anything else but  _tired_. Exhausted, even. Which would explain why he so intent on avoiding eye-contact with Jared. "All I'm trying to say is just… I'm in love?" he says, in that same small, lost, vulnerable voice as before. "And I'm in love with Jensen? Like. The same Jensen who's also your boyfriend and madly in love with you and way, way out of my league—so, like I said, it's stupid, and it's really not a problem, I've just…"  
  
As he raises his face from the table, Misha trembles. Combs his fingers through his hair and doesn't look any calmer for doing so. "I don't really know how long I've been in love with him, it wasn't love at first sight but I can't remember when I wasn't? Not counting when we didn't know each other, I mean, because well, obviously—but… It's nothing huge, or bad, or wrong, or anything. It's just a  _thing_. And frankly, it's kind of a pain in the ass sorta thing because he's so amazing, I just want—I don't even really know what I want? Because I want him, but I want him to be happy, which he wouldn't be with me, plus he's dating you and he loves you, and it's  _so. fucking. stupid_ …"  
  
Misha sighs. Shakes his head and looks about ready to puke. "I know that doesn't make any fucking sense, Jared, and I know it's totally stupid, but… Like I said, I don't expect anything out of him, much less for him to reciprocate, and I love Gen, I'd never try to hurt her or cheat on her or anything, and I'd  _never_  try to break you and Jensen up because he loves you so much, and you make him so happy, which is all I really want for him in the first place… And I really don't know what Gen thought this was going to accomplish because all it's doing is making me feel kind of cornered and exposed?"  
  
"Yeah, well, if it helps any, nobody's ever really understood how Gen's mind works, not even when we were kids. But what I do know is that you?" Jared points at Misha and, while Misha goes cross-eyed, staring at Jared's finger, Jared takes the opportunity to poke his nose. Misha whines, flinches and looks like a kitten, and seems entirely unaware of how cute he is. "You need some pick-me-up cocoa—"  
  
"I just told you I'm in love with your boyfriend and  _you're_  trying to comfort  _me_?" Misha might snap that out pretty quickly, but it slips right into staring at Jared like he's grown a second head or burst out into an elaborate tap-dance routine, complete with full orchestral accompaniment, and talking slowly, carefully, like he's still trying to understand what's going on. "Not just comfort me, but you want to make me cocoa or cupcakes and give me a hug—it's not like… I'm not trying to object or steal your thunder or anything, but is there  _any_  universe in which this makes sense?"  
  
Jared shrugs and slides up to his feet. "You're hurting. I don't like it when people I like are hurting. And pick-me-up cocoa's what my mom always makes when somebody's upset, so… you're getting some."  
  
Misha slouches, shakes his head. "If you insist, just… can you maybe make me tea instead? I've got—there's a little tupperware box of tea bags over in… that cabinet? The one with the mugs? …I really appreciate the gesture, Jared, and I'm sure your mother's cocoa is fabulous, but I haven't been feeling well lately, and… just, one of the bags of the organic oolong tea? Please?"  
  
Again, this looks pretty damn suspicious in retrospect, but Jared complies anyway, and they don't say anything while he mixes up his own cocoa and Misha's tea. Not like they could if Jared had any idea what to even say about this sudden revelation that his boyfriend's best friend isn't just in love with Jared's boyfriend, but apparently, he's also emotionally whipping himself over it and has been for four years. What the Hell  _can_  he say to that? For his part, Misha just silently slumps forward onto the table and drops his head onto his forearms, and doesn't so much as move until Jared prods at his arm and sets the mug of tea down in front of him. And when he sits up, wraps his hands around the mug and turns his eyes up to Jared, mumbles,  _thanks, Jared_ , Misha looks like he's on the verge of tears.  
  
He doesn't cry, though. Just leaves the bag in his tea well past when he should've taken it out, turns the mug around in his hands, and eventually says, "…look, whatever this was supposed to do for us or whatever Gen was thinking, just… please don't tell Jensen about this, okay? He hasn't figured it out in the four years we've lived together, and I don't want to bother him with it, especially not right now with graduation or anything, so… Please don't tell him?"  
  
"Why can't I tell him?" Jared blinks at Misha over the rim of his mug—he wasn't thinking about telling Jensen, but now that Misha mentions it, it actually might not be a bad idea. Just getting everything out in the open so everybody's on the same page and maybe Misha might stop with the emotionally berating himself thing. "You're his best friend, Misha. He  _cares_  about you so much—"  
  
"That's exactly why you can't tell him, though. He's my best friend, too, okay? He's the best friend I've ever had in my life. I'd take a bullet for him. I actually almost got arrested this one time because I… sort of threatened his douchebag ex with castration in front of a cop, but anyway, that's not the point, it's just…" Misha sighs, taking a long drink out of his mug. "I just don't want want to burden him with this shit when it's not his responsibility to deal with my wonky little hopeless crush thing—it's mine. I don't want to fuck this up over something so stupid. I  _can't_  fuck this up."  
  
"Well, just speaking for me here?" Jared says and sets his mug on the table, rubs circles on the ceramic with his thumb. "But I really don't think being in love with your best friend is stupid. And you're kidding yourself if you think Jensen would think that."  
  
"Trust me, Jared: in my case, it is very stupid, not least because he's way too good for me and way better than what I deserve—"  
  
"No, he's  _not_ —you're awesome, Jensen is awesome, you deserve somebody who's awesome and into you, and—"  
  
Misha holds up a palm, effectively shutting Jared up. "Please don't give me the bargain rack self-help book thing over this, Jared. Just… I don't need to be analyzed or anything, I only need you to please not tell Jensen about this conversation, okay?  _Please_?"  
  
Jared sighs, and he's really not sure that he wants to agree to this condition… but he  _does_  want Misha to be okay, or feel better, or something. So Jared just reaches over and squeezes Misha's free hand in a gesture he hopes is reassuring, and says, "Don't sweat it, I won't tell him. I got your back, Meesh." He pauses, thinking that's probably enough, but goes ahead and tacks on, "You  _do_  know you deserve to be happy, though, right?"  
  
"Genevieve does make me happy," Misha says, not quite defensively, but like he actually expects this kind of deflecting to work, like changing the subject's really going to make Jared drop it. "I know she's not my true love but I'm not hers either and we're both okay with that because we just enjoy spending time together—plus, the sex is great, but I'm guessing you probably didn't need to know that."  
  
Jared really, really didn't, but whatever, he's known that his cousin's a sexual being since Genevieve and her first girlfriend got caught fucking at the junior prom. "And anyway, I wasn't actually worried about you hurting her?" he says. "Gen's an adult. She can take care of herself. I just meant more like. You're really pretty awesome and you deserve to have your true love, or a friend you care about and have sex with sometimes, or whatever else you want out of life. Y'know?"  
  
"Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence, Jared, but…" Misha combs his fingers back through his hair and polishes off his tea. "I don't really think you know me well enough to make that call. I'm actually not a very good person but I'd rather not go into it right now, so… Jensen says you're going to Oxford next semester?"  


 

 

 

 


End file.
